


biet har gadd men också honung

by insunshine



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Boston Bruins, Coffee Shops, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:52:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9534545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insunshine/pseuds/insunshine
Summary: The cat might not be the most important part, but Loui likes definitives, and the cat is definitely the beginning.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [detentionlevel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/detentionlevel/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Ska du hem?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6170080) by [detentionlevel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/detentionlevel/pseuds/detentionlevel). 



> Thanks to everybody who helped me put my spin on a story that was already excellent. Thanks also to the folks behind the scenes! It can't have been easy to wrangle everybody together, and this challenge was such a joy to be a part of.

The cat might not be the most important part, but Loui likes definitives, and the cat is definitely the beginning.

+

“Don’t you realize this could be a _health hazard_?” 

The woman ahead of him in line is stereotypical Bostonian; in a tight suit and an even tighter up-do, her talon-like fingernails tapping loudly against the counter. 

Loui has his earbuds in, but he’s lived in Massachusetts for long enough to recognize the tone. Many New Englanders are kind, friendly people with nothing but good things to say, but many are… not.

“Ma’am,” the boy behind the counter tries, and something about the way his voice dips makes Loui pay attention.

“That is a _cat_ ,” Business Suit says, and Loui knows the rhythm her nails are tapping is a beat that will get trapped in his head for the rest of the day. “What if I had an _allergy_?”

Loui doesn’t mean to laugh. It’s not polite, and besides, she’s not exactly wrong. Animals should probably not be allowed in places where food is served. He wonders if there’s a law about it in Boston. This woman looks like she’d know.

“Do you?” the boy asks.

His voice again. There’s something there, in the clip of it that sounds so familiar, Loui’s ears strain to hear it, like the melody of a song he can’t quite remember all the words to.

Business Suit draws herself up to her full height, still shorter than both Loui and the boy behind the counter by at least a foot. She whips her phone out, holding it tightly in her left hand, like just the sight of it should be a threat. 

“That’s not the fucking point, and you know it. This is dangerous. I should have you people shut down.”

 _You people_ , Loui mouths to himself behind her back, and when he looks up again, it’s to see the boy behind the counter grinning at him, just this side of too wide for the whooping he’s getting.

“It’s not his cat,” he blurts. They’re the only three people in the coffee shop — probably the only three people awake on this street so early in the morning — but both the boy behind the counter and Business Suit look startled.

“What did you say?” Business Suit turns to look at him for the first time, and Loui is surprised to see how young she is, underneath all the crepe and hairspray.

Loui forces himself to clear his throat, and then he smiles. It’s his best smile. His Media Day smile. His ‘it’s-okay-that-we’re-down-4-to-1-going-into-the-third-it’ll-really-be-fine-we’ll-rally-back’ smile.

“The cat. It’s my cat.” The boy behind the counter has gone very still, staring at Loui with wide, expressive eyes, white teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“Oh, is it?” she asks, eyes narrowing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize cats were outdoor animals. I don’t see tags on it. Or a leash. I’m not sure exactly what the laws are about walking pets in this city, but I’m sure Animal Control would.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Loui says, nodding as earnestly as he can.

With Business Suit’s back turned, the boy behind the counter has been given ample time to get his shit together, though Loui can see him still biting his lip to keep the laughter from escaping.

“It’s just that she got surgery recently,” Loui continues, because — what the fuck. In for a penny, in for a pound. Loui can’t make very many people laugh anymore, doesn’t seem to be making tons of progress on the ice, but he can do this thing. He can keep an attractive boy from getting fired, maybe. “Yesterday, as a matter of fact, and I couldn’t be there with her.”

He widens his eyes, trying to make himself look as earnest and contrite as possible, not that it seems to be doing much good. Outside, the sun is finally starting to rise, and while he waits for her to respond, Loui watches as the sky starts to transform from gunmetal and gray to a riot of reds, pinks and yellows.

Business Suit is still frowning as she stares at him. “Your cat got surgery and you weren’t even there for her? What’s wrong with you?”

Loui tries another smile and says, “Well, it was very sudden. I play for the Bruins, and we were out of town.”

+

Loui walks Business Suit outside. Her real name is Marie, and she’s from Burlington. She doesn’t give a shit about the Bruins, but she can name every roster player on the Patriots for the past twenty seasons at least. She’s not as bad as she’d initially seemed, but her little sister has a scary pet dander allergy, and Marie worries about her constantly.

Her little sister _loves_ the Bruins. Loui’s not surprised. Dig deep enough into a family in this town, and you’ll usually find somebody who does.

“Would you like me to sign something for her?” he asks. “It’s the least I could do, for potentially putting her in danger.”

Marie is still holding herself stiffly, but the offer makes her relax a little.

“It's just that she usually does the morning coffee run,” she says. “I can't even think about what would have happened to her.” 

Loui hums in agreement. “That does sound very scary. I’ll make sure to be more careful in the future.”

She looks at him shrewdly, but Loui’s innocent face has served him pretty well in this interaction so far. It takes him a bit further, because she doesn't flip out on him. 

“Kelsey is going to flip her shit when I tell her I met — what’s your name again, hon?”

Loui smiles. He hopes it's charming, he's worked on it. He thinks of saying, “Tyler Seguin,” but stops himself just before the words leave his mouth. It's a close thing.

“Loui,” he says instead. “Would you like to take a selfie?”

+

By the time they finish up outside, he's already running late. What Loui should do is drink coffee from somewhere closer to the Garden, if not from the shitty coffee maker they keep in the video room. 

He doesn’t. The boy is still behind the counter, although now he’s cuddling the cat. Loui steps closer and realizes the boy isn’t as young as he’d thought. 

“Hello again,” he says, grinning widely, and Loui smiles back. 

“Hi,” Loui says, surprised when they just stand at each other and grin for a while. 

“Black coffee with cream?” the boy asks. 

Loui’s distracted, close enough to read that his nametag reads Goose, so it takes the words a few moments to permeate his brain. 

“How did you — is this some sort of joke?” He looks around, even though, at nearly 6 in the morning, the place is empty. The street is empty, too. Still, it might be some behind-the-scenes thing the Bruins have sprung on him. “Are we on Candid Camera?”

Goose smiles. His teeth are slightly crooked, but not in a bad way. Loui wants to lean closer to get a better look, but that would be foolish, considering there might be eyes on him at this exact moment. 

“Oh, no!” Goose says with a laugh. “Loui, yes? The Bruins player? I read an interview you did the other day online. Black coffee with cream! I remembered.” 

Loui blinks. He feels himself do it, feels the blush rush to his cheeks. Goose must notice, because his smile brightens. 

“I would never forget such a face,” he says, leaning in like he’s sharing a secret. “Especially not when we’re countrymen.” 

“We are?” Loui asks. 

He feels wrongfooted in a way he hadn’t been outside with Marie, even though she’d been far more menacing to start. He can’t quite seem to get his bearings. 

Goose nods seriously and says, “I played against you in Superelit J20. We only had one game against you guys, but we won.” 

When he finishes speaking, he’s grinning again, and Loui has to work hard at not returning the smile. He remembers it vaguely, but not well enough to call up any exact memories.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” he says.

“You don’t _remember_?” Goose asks, holding his hand up to his heart. The downward tilt to his mouth is absolutely exaggerated. “One of the highlights of my career, and it didn’t leave an impression on you at all? You’re breaking my heart all over again.” 

“Did I score on you very many times, then? I was young. I needed to show off.” He has to fight the need to apologize. It’s taken him a long time to feel comfortable with all that he’s managed to accomplish. He’s not expecting Goose to laugh again, but this whole interaction has him turned around.

“No,” Goose says. “You didn’t score on me once. I told you! It was a highlight of my career, after all.” 

Without him realizing it, they have slid into speaking Swedish. It makes Loui flush again, though he can’t exactly pinpoint why. He wonders if Goose has noticed. He wonders why he cares.

In his pocket, his phone starts to buzz insistently. He doesn’t want to answer. He’s running late enough as it is.

“If you can hold on twenty seconds, I’ll have your drink ready,” Goose says, switching back to English easily. 

“I can hold on,” Loui agrees. 

+

“You don’t remember what it was called, you didn’t get his real name, and you only have a vague recollection of where it was located? Is that honestly what you’re giving me to work with?” 

It’s possible that asking for Brad’s help wasn’t the smartest idea, but Loui isn’t usually built for this kind of problem solving. Give him a stick and a puck, and he knows what to do. Give him a pond or a rink, and his legs know how to move. Finding someone like this, someone he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about for days isn’t his speciality. He’s unused to not being able to block out a distraction. 

“He has a cat,” Loui says, even though that can’t exactly be helpful. He’d tried typing out _goose + cat + cafe + boston_ into Google, but the only results that had yielded were for something called the Purr Cafe, which was less than helpful. 

“Was it a talking cat?” Brad asks. “Did you get the cat’s name? Better question. Why didn’t you ask for his digits, man? Sounds like he was into you.” 

“I was running late!” Loui says, which isn’t a lie, even though it isn’t precisely the truth, either. “I thought I’d be able to go back there and check it out, stop by a few times, make a better impression before…”

“Before what? Is he your Prince Charming or something?” Brad asks. “Tell me if I should really be putting some elbow grease into this search, Sweet Lou.”

Loui’s cheeks flush. It’s possible he’s blushed more this week than he has in the last five years.

“We played against each other once,” he says. “I want to know why. Why it was not more.” 

Brad shakes out his shoulders, and the stretches his knit fingers in front of himself, cracking his knuckles. 

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place, man? Let’s get cracking.”

+

It turns out the that the shop is called The Perfect Cup, and the reason he hadn’t been able to find it a second time is because he’d gone searching on a Monday, and they were closed. 

It’s a Sunday morning. Loui’s freshly showered. The sun is barely cresting the sky, and his stomach is tighter than it was the previous afternoon on the ice, even though they’d eked out a regulation win. 

The door jingles when he walks in, and that’s the first thing he notices. The second thing is that the cat is curled on the floor by the entrance, so clearly Goose has learned nothing from their previous interaction. The third is that Goose himself is standing behind the counter again, and he’s grinning. 

He still has a beautiful smile. 

“Lou, good morning!” he says. “It’s been so long, I didn’t know whether or not I would see you again.” 

Loui shrugs, refusing to let himself feel embarrassed when he says, “I tried. I would have come back sooner, but I couldn’t remember your name. The name of the store, I mean. How could I forget your name? You’re waterfowl.” 

“My name is Jonas. This is Fiske,” he says, gesturing down to the cat with his free hand.

“Fiske?” Loui asks. He can't help his laugh, and he's rewarded with the way Jonas laughs in return. 

“Maybe that will be easier to keep in mind,” Goose says with another grin. 

“Jonas,” Loui repeats. “And Fiske. Yes, I’ll remember that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I listen to a lot of music when I write, but it's usually pretty melancholy, and this was the opposite of a melancholy story, so I had to go in a completely different direction. "Biet har gadd men också honung" is a Swedish proverb that literally means 'the bee has a stinger but honey, too', and I thought that fit perfectly with the tone. Thanks to the "Swedish Proverbs and sayings" website. It was incredibly helpful.


End file.
